


Cutlery (original One-Shot)

by Onehundredcandlesburning



Category: Actor RPF, British Actor RPF, Tom Hiddleston Fandom
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Male-Female Friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-10
Updated: 2014-04-10
Packaged: 2018-01-18 21:22:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1443439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Onehundredcandlesburning/pseuds/Onehundredcandlesburning
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tom has known Ella a long time and she is one of the only people that can ground him, aside his family. After a particularly arduous filming schedule he returns home and notices a few things have changed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cutlery (original One-Shot)

**Author's Note:**

> This work is now set up as a part of the Cutlery work (which started life as a one-shot and has evolved into a multi-chap). To read through the entire work or navigate easier...  
> http://archiveofourown.org/works/1482229/chapters/3127369
> 
> Slight swearing.  
> This will be a three-part piece, based upon a long standing friendship.

Her company was soothing, simply put. When he couldn’t be bothered and wanted to lock himself away from the outside world, but not to be alone, she was usually the first port of call. They’d known each other since the ‘pre-Thor’ days, as he referred to them. She had worked the Garsington Opera Festival with him in 1999 whilst he was studying, before the acting work started to come in. Waiting tables, dealing with rude, abrupt customers. They bonded with their workmates at the end of the festival with an all night session on the left over wine. It always ended with Tom passed out, Ella nursing the beginnings of a nasty hangover. She’d curl up at his front and he’d instinctively bend around her, keeping her warm. Over the years as he started to get income through his art, they stayed in touch and had certain rituals in place. One of which was a movie night on-call. 

He’d just returned from filming in Canada and was contemplating joining some friends for a few quiet ones, having been harangued via text since the plane touched tyre to tarmac. He turned the key in his front door and felt his phone vibrate in his pocket again. With burgeoning rapidity between the texts, he felt the urge to be around people weighing less and less upon him. It was the moment the heavy black-glossed door with the small brass knocker pushed open where his decision was made. He inhaled the scent of his home and sighed, filtering each memory, each comfort he found himself craving and exhaling the remnants of the trip away. 

He dropped his bag and reached into his pocket. Tapping out a brief, succinct reply.  
“No go. Too tired. Talk soon.” And hit send. He kicked his shoes off at the heel, leaving them beside his bag under the coat hooks on the wall, shouldering off his heavy jacket to hang it. He padded through to the kitchen. He ran his fingertips along the counter, taking every detail of his abode in. Savouring the feeling. This he enjoyed the most about being away. Coming home. Shutting the door. Having no fear of interruption and feeling completely at ease and free to be himself and not have to pretend to be anyone else. He relished in the moment before lifting the kettle to weigh it, pop the nozzle under the tap and fill it just enough for one single cup. He flicked the switch and smiled at the feint blue light. 

The silence was deafening. Especially after a day of chaos and crowds. Weeks, months of living out of a hotel room. He contemplated which music to play and settled on a softly rhythmic soundtrack. Moby’s ‘We are all made of stars’. Yes. Instantly from the moment he placed his phone in the dock and the speakers powered up, he had a flashback appear behind his eyelids like a flickering projector on a large white sheet.

* * * * *

“I knew you’d like this…” Ella bounced from foot to foot, the rhythm setting into her bones.  
“It’s fucking amazing, Lala.” Tom grinned, downing the last of the liquid in his glass.  
The year was 2002. Moby had just released ‘18’, his sixth studio album and Tom had been looking forward to hearing it. Ella had managed to get a copy the morning it came out and was playing through it. He'd invited her over to watch his performance in The Gathering Storm. 

“Have you seen the filmclip?” She landed with a thud on the small battered love seat next to her friend.  
“Never managed to catch it from the beginning. But love the premise behind it.”  
“You’re better than any of them. You’ll be there one day. Up amongst the stars.”

“Pfffttt…” Tom waved his hand, dismissive of her praise. He firmly believing that he was destined for something, but unsure what at this stage. He loved acting, had always performed since he could string words together and toddle about. But to think of anything beyond the life he was carving out for himself? Simply didn’t bear consideration at this stage. He had a plan set out for himself and wasn’t about to deviate off it. Especially considering he stood staring down the barrel of the next few years within University walls. At least he could still perform whilst feeding his mind. He felt great purpose standing on the stage. Like it was his true calling, regardless of the argument he’d had with his Father over it. He knew there would likely be many more disagreements to confront as he trimmed his sails. But here and now he was anchored at Cambridge. 

* * * * *

“Give me fifteen minutes.” Ella's voice over the phone was already providing comfort.  
“Shall I add another half an hour to that, Lala time?” Tom jibed.  
“You know how it is.”  
“Always has been that way, always will be.”  
“Need anything?”

Tom pulled the fridge door open, doing a quick inspection. Joyous that there was, as usual, an ample fresh supply of eggs, milk and a bag of oranges ready for juicing in the morning. He had never regretted giving Archie a copy of his key. Archie worked for his Publicist and was diligent about ensuring Tom had his main supplies topped up to arrive home to, and that everything was in order. He’d must have been there not all that long before Tom had pulled up in the Taxi. The vanilla candle burning in the centre of the kitchen island that doubled as a table. 

“Uhmmm… hang on.” He pulled the cupboard open. “Yes!” Ella laughed at his exclamation.  
“McVitties in the cupboard?”  
“You know it.”  
“Okay, see you soon, hon. Shall I bring a white or red?”  
“Oh… I’m about to have a cup of tea... Hmmm… Red tonight I think. Will go with the chocolate biscuits and the cold weather. “  
“Right you are. Mwah. I’m on my way.” 

Tom poured the boiling water out of the kettle into one of the white china cups he’d laid out in a saucer. He relished the waft of fragrant steam that rose up. The next song clicked over. Bodyrock. He danced over to the fridge again, pulling out the milk and kicking it shut with his heel. Sliding across the polished wooden flooring in his socks.  
“Great album.” He mumbled to himself. He’d recently purchased the Best of Moby on iTunes after hearing Porcelain on one of the breaks during filming. He'd had the disc somewhere but in amongst the state of his office at home, but decided to splash out on the digital version so he could listen on the flight home. 

“Right... Changed.” He placed the milk next to the cup, allowing it time to steep. He spun on his heel and dashed to the door, suddenly feeling more energy from the music and knowing Ella was on her way. One of his dearest friends. God the shite they got up to years ago. He chuckled. It had been six months since he’d seen her and nothing cemented him feeling at home more than a movie night with Lala. 

He grabbed his bag and raced up the stairs, his long legs easily clearing two steps at a time. 

* * * * *

“Dahhhhhling!” Tom held his arms out wide for his friend who was standing on the doorstep, cradling a small overnight bag and a bottle of wine.  
“Twhiddleston!” Ella crashed through the door. Falling into a big bear hug with her friend. Tom always gave the best hugs, and it had been a long time between them.  
“Shit, you’re on time. What happened?” He took the bottle from her hand as she threw her bag down and followed him.  
“I had to develop some… discipline.” She scoffed. 

“I'm impressed, La.”  
“I guess I’ve started the process of growing up, finahhhhly.” She rolled her eyes, propping herself up at the bench on one of the stools.  
“You eaten?” He began opening the bottle. “I thought we could order in if you hadn’t. I’m starving. Thai?”  
“With red? God you were always hopeless about wine.”  
“Give me a break! I can tell you the best spirits and list the finest ales in a heartbeat.”  
“Okay. We won’t start that one up again.”

Ella jumped down from the stool, rifling through Tom’s cupboard.  
“Nothing in there.”  
“Okay. I’ll call down to Carluccio's. I can run down and pick it up.”  
“Are you sure?”  
“Not a problem. Usual?”  
“Please!”  
“Your shout, moneybags.” She playfully pinched his side as he pulled out the cork from the bottle, allowing it to breathe before their meal was ready. 

Ella wandered off to the other room, babbling on her phone, placing the order.  
He laughed. She always spoke a million miles an hour when she had to get something done. It was as though she had it bottled up and let it out in a geyser. 

* * * * *

“Comfy now?” He dragged the foot stool closer. A big brown leather rectangle. Big enough to act as a single bed if need ever be. He sat back and kicked his feet up, crossing them at the ankles.  
“What the hell have you got on your feet? I didn’t notice before.” Ella bit back laughter at Tom’s ugg boots.  
“They’re comfortable!”  
“They’re fucking atrocious.”  
“Oh ye of style and sophistication!” Tom picked at Ella’s bright purple polar fleece pants between his thumb and forefinger.  
“They’re comfortable.” She screwed up her face. Point made. 

Ella shuffled back, sinking into the leather surrounds, pulling over the black crocheted blanket next to her and draping it across both their laps. Tom reached over to the side, grabbing their wine glasses.  
“M’lady.”  
“Why thank you, kind sir.” She took the glass and sank her shoulder into position under his raised arm. He dropped it back down across her, behind her head, controller in hand.  
“What’s our viewing pleasure tonight, La?”  
“Gentleman’s choice.” 

Tom pressed a few buttons, settling on ‘Heat’.  
“Really? Haven’t you seen it enough?” Ella playfully elbowed him in the ribs.  
“Oof… La! You’ll bring my branzino back up!” Tom grunted, holding his wine glass against his stomach, satisfyingly full from the meal.  
“Meh. It’s a great film. As long as you don’t recite the whole damned thing like you did last time.”

Tom pulled the blanket up and snuggled in against his friend.  
“I make no promises, darling.”


End file.
